Jason and the Words That Burn
by sickphilosophy
Summary: Jason Todd thinks poetry is the cringiest thing in the world, until it's not. Until the words of famous writers come down on him like a grenade and force him into the world of Kory Anders, Dick Grayson, and the mighty "Titans." And there's a whole lot of yearning going on, but Jason's not going to admit it. [RedX/Star/Rob] [Complete]
1. The Words of King

**Poetic Justice**

* * *

I never pointed out to her the irony of breaking up with me for being a thief, when it was something I stole that won her heart in the first place.

A poem, of all things.

It's funny how poetry is the most embarrassing thing in the world, until it has the power to pry your sleepy eyes open in the middle of an American Literature class, all because your professor recited a configuration of words you didn't know existed.

But by the time I finally sat up to listen, the professor was speaking farther and farther away from the poem, and I couldn't recall any of the words I had just heard. Only the way they made me feel.

Whatever he said, it forced me to look at her.

She was sitting a few rows down in a seat that hugged the left wall of the classroom, leaning her head against the window. It was an 8am class and the sun was just beginning to pour in, its light spilling wildly through her auburn hair like fire.

Now I'm not an idiot; I knew Kory Anders was way out of my league. But that's the power of a pretty girl way out of your league, she can have you in the campus library at 11pm flipping through a whole damn book, trying your luck anyway. When I found the words that clicked, I tore the whole page out, jammed it into my pocket, and left.

The next morning, I watched from my seat, hood pulled over and face propped in my hand, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but failing to stop the furious bounce in my leg. She rushed in a few minutes late, wringing the rain out of her hair and sliding into her usual seat, surprised to see something waiting for her.

I'd Sharpied everything out except for those twelve words, and from where I was sitting, I could only see thick bars of black on the paper. I remember watching her pick it up, and suddenly thinking what a shitty idea it was. As far as plans for picking up girls went, this plan wasn't just plain terrible, it was fancy terrible; it was terrible with raisins in it. I lost the rhythm of normal breathing, mortified with the realization that I'd actually written my name on it.

And just like that, the curl of her lips hit me right in the gut, and I swear I was seeing stars.

...

...

I remember the first time I kissed her, I stole that too.

It was during a time when I thought a quick kiss in the dark from a stranger at a college party was as close as I was ever going to get to a sun like her. I thought I was dreaming when she grabbed ahold of my jacket as I was pulling back, drawing me to her for more.

_Starfire_. My pet name for her. I'd wait outside until her classes ended and call out to her, loving the way she'd wrinkle her nose at the name. I liked to whisper it into her ear at the worst moments, like in the cinema, waiting for a change of scene to illuminate her face so I could see the flush in her cheeks. It's the name that spilled out of my mouth—along with a string of dark words—whenever she'd spend a night at my place and the writhing of her body under me left me with no self-control.

I dated Kory with the uneasy feeling that it wouldn't last. It _couldn't_. There was no way the universe would let me have someone like her for long. I stole that time anyway.

But Kory Anders was a criminal justice major, and the boss hated that the most._ It's just a matter of time_, he assured me. _Just because she's climbing up your leg now doesn't mean she'll stay when she gets wise about the job._

He was right, of course. She didn't stay long when she found out the truth. But by the time it was over, love had already infected the bones.

I don't know. I'm drunk.

...

...

I slide the empty bottle back at the bartender and drop the cash on the counter, grabbing my pack and leaving with a wave of my finger. I can't stay long; the cash—40k in clean stacks—burns through my bag and all I want to do is throw it in the safe at my place until the boss and his men pick it up in the morning.

I figure I'll sober up after a good shower, and I'm relying on muscle memory to get me back home. By the time I fall out of the elevator in my building, I argue sleeping in the hall for a second, until I worm my way to my door and jam the key into the doorknob repeatedly until finding the hole.

My jeans and shirt are off without a thought and I'm yanking the fridge door open, squinting through the light to see what could help me with my drunchies. I don't even recall buying lasagna, but I don't think too hard on it as I inhale the whole thing in seconds.

By the time I drag my body to the bathroom, I'm stark naked, and I let the shower run hot until I pull myself in, wincing a bit when it hits a fresh wound I'd earned from tonight's heist.

A memory opens: me piling suds on top of Kory's head while she runs her fingers over my body.

_"Where'd you get this one?" She asks, thumbing at a fibrous scar on my shoulder._

_"Motorcycle accident," I lie, as I sculpt cat ears out of the bubbles._

_"And this?" She's pointing at my chest: clean white lines the boss rewarded me with for being stupid on a job._

_"Boy scout dare," I say dismissively. When my masterpiece is done, I bend down to kiss her forehead._

_"What do I look like?" She asks._

_I step as far back as the shower will allow me so I can marvel at her, grateful that I get to be the guy who sees this brilliant girl naked, wet, and in cat ears. "Like a kitten, Kitten."_

_And suddenly I'm on my knees for her, pulling her leg over my shoulder and letting the numbers on my water bill rise._

Holy shit.

It's the scent of the shampoo that sobers me right up. I look around in horror: epsom salts, bath bombs, bottles and jars of girl potions in an array of feminine colors that make me want to vomit at the realization. I rip the curtains aside and hurl my body out of the shower. In a panic, I'm pulling my boxers on and rushing out of Kory's bathroom.

But God is dead, my friends. I hear mumbling out in the hall and the doorknob starts to wiggle before I can reach my shirt. A line of light cracks open as two figures enter and I dive wildly into a nearby closet of her hallway.

"Hm. I thought I locked this," Kory says absently, and I hear the door shut.

"You think someone got in?" Asks a vaguely familiar voice. "Let me look around for you."

"What a gallant way to get yourself into my bedroom," Kory commends with a laugh.

"I can get you a better place in my building, Anders," says the voice, not giving into her tease. "Something about you living here rubs me the wrong way."

"And me living in your building will rub you the _right_ way?" Her voice is playful. The other voice stammers and she's laughing again. "Relax, handsome. I'm just a forgetful girl. Let me put on some music."

An Elvis Costello song begins to play as their exchange ends and the whole thing makes me bitter, because (1) I hate the way Kory is comfortably Kory no matter what guy she's with and (2) I fucking introduced her to Costello.

Insert kissing scene here, I imagine, as the room goes silent for a while and there's the soft sound of fumbling and small giggles escaping Kory's mouth.

"Anders… the essay."

"Mm? Oh sorry," Kory says, and I see her figure pass by. She returns with an open laptop balancing on her bicep as she taps her password in. "I'm having a problem with these three paragraphs, and as far as citations go, I'm completely lost."

I hear the dip of the couch and the clacking of keyboards, and suddenly they're both in their own collegiate zone when I begin to think: I'm naked in a closet, with my clothes scattered in various rooms of my ex girlfriend's apartment; I have a backpack of stolen cash in the same room as two criminal justice majors; and in the kitchen lay my jeans, its pockets holding an unsilenced phone that can go off any minute, a wallet with all my IDs, and a Glock 17.

I'm in the middle of contemplating how truly fucked I am when I hear the guy's voice. "Damn, I forgot a laptop charger."

"I think I have an extra one. Sit tight."

I don't have much choice when Kory opens the closet door and sees me. So I pull her in and slap a hand over her mouth. "Keep quiet, cutie—oof." I receive a knee to the baby-maker and it takes everything within me to keep from keeling over. I watch the recognition hit her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" She asks when I drop my hand.

"Accident. I swear."

She eyes me with suspicion, but accepts the answer, and I begin to wonder how badly I must reek of alcohol for her to believe me.

"I'm fine," I say, looking away. It comes out defensive.

"You're naked..." she points out mildly. "And wet."

I shrug. "Made it to the shower."

The look she gives me is a mixture of anger, wonder, and pity.

"Listen," I say, suddenly irritated. "I don't wanna ruin your cute little study date here. Just help me get my shit together and I'm out."

"I want my key back."

"Fine."

A voice calls from the living room. "Anders? Charger? My laptop's living on a prayer."

Kory gives me a look and pulls a white cord from a shoebox on the overhead shelf and steps out of the closet. "There's an outlet behind the couch," she tells him. "Let's move it aside so you can plug in." She says this loudly and slowly and I recognize my cue. I hear the sound of the couch sliding over carpet and—like a college girl in a co-ed dorm who forgot her towel after a shower—I run.

I slide into the kitchen and I see that my jeans are inside-out in front of the fridge, and I fish for the balled-up sock in each leg before slipping them on. My phone is still tucked in my back pocket, and I quickly switch it to silent mode before it becomes any type of inconvenience. I give myself a pat down and freeze at the realization that my gun isn't in my pockets.

_Fuck._

Kory appears down the hall, looking into the closet and discovering I'm no longer there. When she turns and sees me in the kitchen, she lifts up a shirt in her hand and raises her eyebrows, simultaneously saying_ Is this yours?_ and _Are you serious?_

When she steps into the kitchen, I snatch the shirt from her and shrug it on.

"Where are your shoes?" She asks.

"I have no clue," I answer honestly.

Kory throws a sharp expression over her shoulder and walks back into the living room.

And just like that, my phone flashes a notification: _Change of plans. Picking up stash tonight._

Shit.

I'm in the middle of typing up an excuse that I think will hold when I hear Kory's voice. "I don't know if my works cited page is in MLA format."

"Well I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

I glance at a butter knife on the counter and imagine harakiri-ing myself with it. But something catches my eye: a piece of paper tacked onto the refrigerator with a magnet. I move to touch it, gaping in disbelief, when I hear Kory's voice again.

"D-dick."

My blood chills at the name as I fly to the edge of the kitchen entrance and peer into the living room. Kory's pinned to the floor with her dress hiked up to her hip, running her hands through black hair as _he_ licks my girl's neck. I see her tremble in pleasure and all of a sudden I'm down for a good throat punching.

"Dick, let me get us some wine," she says, then shivers.

"Don't need it," he mumbles, as he runs a trail of kisses down her chest. But she slides herself gracefully out from under him and brings his lips to hers. "Two minutes," she whispers into him. "Promise."

They end up making out for a little longer and I pry myself away from the sight, grabbing the wine glasses from the top shelf and pacing wildly back and forth. She enters the kitchen, a little flushed, pulling her dress back down. "I've moved your shoes to the door. Get ready to go."

"_Grayson_?" I say, almost spitting out the name as I place the glasses in her hands. "You're hooking up with _Dick Grayson_?"

"It's truly none of your business."

I open the fridge door for her and she ducks for the wine. "He's a prick, Kory. He's Daddy's Money. He's the type of guy who can pay his way through the system if he hits a kid with his Lambo under the influence. Wealthy people like Grayson think they're above the law."

"You're a thief. Do you happen to see the pot and the kettle in that?" She asks as she grabs the bottle, but her eyes widen in shock, and she pulls out my gun from the fridge. Kory looks back at me incredulously and I immediately take it from her.

"At least I work for my stash," I mumble sheepishly and tuck the gun in my jeans. Kory orders for the bottle opener. Without looking, I pull at a drawer and gesture for her to hand me the bottle.

"He's a criminal justice major too," she defends, as I twist through the cork. "Top of the class, volunteers on the weekends, networks of friends—"

"Well I've never been a billionaire before, but I bet I'd be good at it too."

"No, instead you move through life with a gun in one hand and the orders from your boss in the other." The cork shoots off into nowhere with a clean pop and she holds out the glasses for me to fill.

"So that's what happened between us?" I mutter, as I pour. "Dating a bad guy is conveniently checked off your college-girl bucket list without you having to be aware for most of it. And now it's time for Boy Wonder, who walks around campus with his Father's money and a huge—"

"Dick," Kory calls out to the living room. "Switch the music for me, will you, handsome?"

"...ego," I finish, staring at her balefully. The song changes, and the smile Kory is giving me is smug.

And see, that's the thing that undoes it: a look between us that goes on a little too long. Long enough for my nerves to unsteel themselves and her stare to soften. And suddenly all I can think of is that poem I stole from the library that one night, and the way the morning spilled through her hair as she leaned against the window. All those nights and showers and words that happened between us before the rough hands of my job pulled me away from her.

"Starfire," I hear myself say.

Kory bristles. "That's not fair."

_January embers._

I take the wine glasses from her hands and set them aside before lifting her up onto the kitchen counter.

"That's not fair," she says again, and I'm kissing her.

Elvis Costello sings from the living room about how the sun may rise and burn through yellow skies, and I trace my fingers over her jaw and revel in the way she kisses back into me. "I begged you to quit," she says with a breath as her hand finds the back of my neck.

"Can't, cutie. Turn around."

But suddenly Wonder Boy cuts through with a, "Kory? Do you need some help in the kitchen?"

Kory rips herself out of the moment and pushes herself back onto the floor, shaking her hands in panic.

"I've had a few punch-ups with Grayson before, I'd be happy to do it again," I say through my teeth, the adrenaline from finally kissing her again pulsing through me.

"Get out," Kory says instead.

I look at her, and suddenly I hear footsteps heading toward us.

"Anders?"

Kori runs back into the living room, and from where I'm standing, I see her barrel into him, smashing her mouth into his. "Bed," she orders.

Grayson is chuckling through the kisses. "What happened to the wine? What about the paper?"

"Bed," she answers, a pleading in her voice. And Grayson graciously responds by picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. I watch breathlessly as she moves her mouth to his neck, glaring at me over his shoulder and cocking her head to the door.

When the bedroom door closes, I pick up my heart off the kitchen floor, grab my bag and shoes, and leave.

…

…

Kory makes a point to come to class early so she can get the key from me. She inspects it, and I'm offended that she thinks I'm stupid or desperate enough to give her a fake.

"How do I know you didn't make copies?"

I snort. "I'd rather die than watch Grayson rub his billion-dollar boner on you ever again."

When class starts and the professor begins to talk about literature of the Harlem Renaissance, I pull out a piece of paper from my pocket and unfold it, looking at the blackened out lines and the twelve words that started everything.

Kory had it hanging on her fridge, and I had to steal it back, a poetic justice type of deal.

...

...

_Your hair is winter fire_

_January embers_

_My heart burns there, too._

― S. King

* * *

A/N: Written around a Stephen King poem that reminded me of Starfire, and a quote from Dorothy Parker (This wasn't just plain terrible. This was fancy terrible. This was terrible with raisins in it!)

Some trivia about my AU:

The college they go to is Justice University (College Team: the Titans) and both Starfire and Robin major in Criminal Justice and minor in Linguistics. Red X is undecided and has to pay his way through this very expensive school through shady jobs.

"Vic," "Gar," and "Rachel" are criminal justice majors too. The five of them are still a happy little family.

Also posted on my AO3 :) Comments really appreciated!


	2. The Words of Thoreau

A/N:

Thank you for all the kind reviews! They mean more than you'd know, and they've inspired me to write another chapter.

* * *

Jason can't stop thinking about the sentence.

_"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately..."_

Jason hears the sound of his own nose breaking before he actually feels it, and when the pain washes over him, fierce and sharp, he decides he'll blame Henry David Thoreau for this one.

Because if it wasn't for that goddamn book Thoreau wrote about living in the woods, Jason wouldn't have been so emotionally attached to the fox that crossed him as his gang was leaving the jewelry store. He wouldn't have panicked when he saw Mammoth pull out the gun—silencer attached—and aimed.

"Mammoth! What the actual fuck?"

"Imagine the price on his coat, Red."

Jason wouldn't have slapped at the gun as Mammoth pulled the trigger, directing the bullet to a nearby car and setting off its alarm. Jason's face was met with Mammoth's fist, and then again to the gut, hurling him backwards into a glass case that shattered and spilled jewelry and shards violently over his shoulders.

Now, Mammoth is calling Jason every vulgar name in the handbook as he gingerly presses at his broken nose. It's Jinx's sharp voice that cuts through, full of venom. "You _idiots_," she says, through gritted teeth. "We were almost in the clear."

The kid called Gizmo looks at all of them with an annoyance above anything else. "I did not spend three hours disabling all these alarms so that Steve Irwin here can protect the wildlife."

"We gotta dip," orders Jinx as she hoists Jason up. Like kitchen mice, they scatter to their predetermined directions. "Red X? Move your fucking feet," Jinx shouts over her shoulder, and she's gone.

But Jason can't move. He's staring at the floor—littered with tiny fragments of glass and gleaming jewelry—imagining Henry David Thoreau going to the woods to live deliberately, wondering what living deliberately means and why of all places it should be done in the woods. In the end, he takes off, but only after sweeping through the shards of glass, pocketing the emerald earrings into his backpack. The rubies are worth more, but emeralds are Kory's favorite, and that's how Jason knows he's still living in Patheticville.

…

…

The bar ten blocks down is packed, because it's Trivia Night, and he likes how the roaring of the crowd will drown out the police sirens once things start going. Jason doesn't waste any time as he flashes a smile to the bartender—a pretty girl from University with hazel eyes and a fresh pixie cut—and by the fourth shot, his tongue slides inside her mouth and he figures he'll aim for oblivion tonight, because no one knows oblivion better than Jason.

He's in a year-long spiral to rock bottom and Jason pretends he's loving the journey. Because at least it's a direction. At least it's easy. He attends his classes, drinks his fill at the closest bar, enjoys the sex from girls who offer no strings attached, and allows the days to pass in a pleasant haze where nobody analyzes how he feels or how he's supposed to feel. Jason gets to exist.

"Mate, you're gonna black out."

Jason laughs. "I never black out."

And then he blacks out, and he dreams he's following Henry David Thoreau into the woods, because, whatever it actually means, he's wishing to live deliberately too.

…

…

"Jason?"

He hears it in his mother's voice first, the way she'd say his name when she wasn't in the middle of a drunken bender or a drug-induced coma. The voice of a proper mother—if only on loan—beckoning him to her so she can read to him pages from _The Little Prince_.

"_You're beautiful, but you're empty. No one could die for you."_

That's a lot to unpack for a kid. He should just throw out the whole damn suitcase, but it's where the only good memories of his mother live.

"Jason? Can you hear me? You're at the hospital, Jason. Your girlfriend is here to collect you."

The nurse is a liar; there's no girlfriend to collect him because Jason needs too much collecting and it's how he burns through all of his relationships. And after the last one, he's not interested in starting over. Sure, there's a lot of romanticizing on his part, but it doesn't stop Jason's heart from skipping a beat when he opens his eyes and sees Kory Anders sitting calmly at the foot of the bed, looking at him through several screens of concern, holding his backpack tightly against her hip.

"It's a concussion," she informs unceremoniously, as if they were in the middle of a conversation. "So it's best someone stay with you tonight. And you have four stitches. You fell through a table."

Her green eyes are stunning, and Jason props himself up to stick his hand in the backpack, feeling for the emerald earrings. Because all his life he's been vieing for approval, and he wants to present them to Kory like some miserable beggar seeking favor from his queen. _I got them for you_, he wants to say.

Instead, Jason pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts, looking for Jinx's number and taking notice of the time: two hours off schedule. "She's gonna kill me," Jason mutters under his breath before bringing the phone to his ear. The expression on Kory's face is annoying. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice."

"Was the burglary at Wolfram Plaza your doing?" Kory asks perfunctorily.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

Kory pulls the collar of her blouse low to reveal a diamond pendant hanging on her neck, and to showcase the matching diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. After, she tucks her hair behind her ear, flashing an emerald stud against the hospital's fluorescent light.

Jason hangs up the phone at the sound of Jinx's voice. "Kory—"

"They wanted to look through your bag," Kory says in the same perfunctory tone. "And with stolen diamonds from the Plaza all over the news tonight..." Her sentence trails off in a lilt, and she pats at her purse on her lap: _your gun; the rest of the diamonds._

"Shit," Jason says as he collapses back into the pillow, blowing a breath of relief. "Shit, thank you."

"You know, for a professional, you're pretty cavalier with where you leave the incriminating evidence."

"What can I say, beautiful? I like to live on the edge."

"The edge of what exactly? Because I broke up with you to avoid situations like this."

"Why are you here, then? I'm not your responsibility anymore. And you're not my girlfriend."

"You called me, Jason."

The world falls away for a quick, humiliating second. "Liar," he whispers, but there's a ringing in his head because it sounds like just the slimy thing Drunk Jason would do. Drunk Jason would have called her, because Drunk Jason is a prick. Because he knows Kory Anders is a girl with compassion and empathy and it's where he can sink his needy, greedy talons into when he needs the help. Jason kicks the sheets off and leaves the bed to pull on his pants and sweater. He's sick with self-loathing.

"Anyway, we're taking you home."

She says it casually, but Jason catches it. _We're_. An ugly word that implies so much more than what he wants to know, and all the sex and alcohol he's indulged in this semester to carry him away betray him and bring him right back to the truth.

"No. He doesn't get to do me any sort of favor."

"Guess who paid for the hospital bill," Kory points out, without any heat.

…

…

It's the lack of shame or guilt born of desperation that gets Jason to agree.

Dick Grayson brings the car around. It's a vintage Ferrari (of course it is) and Jason steals the front before Kory can say anything, because he refuses to sit in the back and watch the two lovebirds go at it with the hand holding and the shoulder kissing. Kory's the type for public displays of affection, Jason knows this from first-hand experience. It's a short drive, but he can feel the bastard's sideways glances drill into him. It makes Jason deaf with rage.

"Hm?" Jason asks, the adrenaline thrumming under his skin.

"I was asking if you declared a major yet," Kory says.

"Yeah."

And that's as far as conversation goes inside Dick Grayson's fancy car.

…

…

The three of them step out of the elevator into Kory's floor. Jason lives in an apartment a few stories higher, but Kory wants to retrieve food from her fridge that they can reheat upstairs.

"Do you own a shower cap?" Kory asks Jason as she unlocks her door.

"Do I look like I'd own a shower cap?"

And then Kory disappears into her own apartment, leaving Jason and Boy Wonder alone in the hall.

"Thanks," says Jason, not meaning it.

"Don't." Dick's voice is quiet. "You'd still be facedown in a gutter somewhere between the hospital and here, if it were my choice. You know that."

Jason waits for Kory to come back out and points at Dick. "He's not allowed inside my place, Kitten."

Dick begins to protest, but Kory glances back at Jason and he gives her a meaningful look: _You know why he can't._

"I think it's for the best, Dick," Kory says. Her face is full of sincerity, and it pacifies Grayson for a moment.

"For the best, Dick," Jason agrees, because he has no self-control.

"Get fucked, Todd."

"Thanks, I intend to."

Jason and Dick proceed with a quick verbal exchange. Then they're shoving each other and Jason sees more emotion on Grayson's face than ever before. And suddenly Kory's between them, trying to push them apart, but it's Grayson she's facing and they start kissing in the middle of _his_ fight — _they start kissing_ — and it's no longer about Jason.

"See you at Vic's party," Grayson says, and he's gone.

…

…

Jason unlocks the door to see the petite silhouette of Jinx in the living room, perched on the window sill, admiring her perfectly manicured nails in the moonlight. "I've been waiting on you for a long time, Red."

Jinx's voice is smooth, with only a hint of impatience.

"Had to take the scenic route through the ER," Jason quips as he pulls Kory—who is smart enough to keep quiet—closer to him to unclasp the diamond pendant off her neck. He can feel Jinx's careful stare in the dark as she follows his hands to Kory's wrist next, and ears after.

"Is this something we should be concerned about?"

Jason is unsure whether Jinx is referring to his time at the emergency room or the fact that they have an audience, but his answer is the same either way: "No." He goes through Kory's purse, and then it's over: a quick, eventless tradeoff of the goods, and Jinx is out the window and down the fire escape, leaving Jason and a bewildered Kory alone in the dark.

After dinner, Kory pulls out a purple shower cap from her bag.

Jason shakes his head with conviction. "Oh, gorgeous, you know I'm not wearing that."

"You smell like a brewery, Todd. You need to shower."

"Yeah, but that looks ridiculously uncool."

"You can't get your stitches wet."

"How about we meet half-way and you give me a sponge bath?"

…

…

With very colorful words, Kory makes it clear that the prospect of a sponge bath is dismal, so Jason wears the lunch lady hat in the shower, and comes back to see Kory in the kitchenette, washing the dishes. It's all freakishly domestic, and Jason is afraid that none of it is real.

"You shouldn't have let him pay for the bill."

"He was going to do it no matter what I said to him."

"The bastard's not going to let me pay him back."

"As you've pointed out many times before, Jason, he has the money. He's not going to miss it. Just let someone do something nice for you and leave it at that."

"Do something nice for me? Are you serious? Kory, he hates my guts! It has nothing to do about doing something nice. This is a fucking power move. So I can't undermine him later and steal his girlfriend."

"See, that's where your logic falls apart since he just broke up with me."

The air kind of whooshes out of Jason's lungs. "What? When?"

"Right before you called me."

"Why?"

Kory rinses the last dish and places it on the drying rack. She turns to lean back against the sink, a resentful smile on her face. "Because Barbara Gordon, that's why."

Another girl. "Dick was cheating on you?"

"Of course not. She's a high school sweetheart."

"Oh."

Kory nods. "A high school sweetheart who's been in an accident, and is now confined to a wheelchair."

It's a sentence that's not easy to process, and Kory can see it on Jason's face, so she elaborates. "Gotham's always been known for corrupt institutions, and Barbara Gordon is the commissioner's daughter. She's brilliant and brave and vocal, and it got her a bullet straight into her spinal cord. The news of all this apparently sparked old feelings about her that Dick didn't know he still had. And now he needs a break to… confirm those feelings. He's flying back to Gotham tomorrow, for the weekend."

"Kory, you are way too calm about this."

Kory laughs bitterly and stares hard at the ground. "Jason, I'm furious. But what am I going to do? She's been through hell. Dick is… he's honest. It's why I fell in love with him in the first place. It's all I can ever ask from a guy."

"You can ask for more from a guy. You deserve more."

Kory shakes her head. "I still don't think Dick did anything wrong. That's just the thing about old flames, isn't it?" She looks up with watery eyes. "You don't ever fully get over them."

"No," Jason agrees. "Not fully."

Kory's tears begin to fall freely as she stays leaning against the sink, and they very quickly become sobs when Jason closes the distance between them to gather her in his arms. There wasn't a lot of this stuff in their relationship before—opportunities to comfort Kory. But now Jason is finally experiencing it, and it's better than sex.

…

…

Kory's eventually moved to the couch and he finds a channel airing old reruns of a sitcom he knows she likes. At one point she gets cold, but Jason's not interested in having her go back to her apartment for a sweater, so he tells her to pick one from his bedroom. When she doesn't return, Jason gets up to investigate, walking straight into a very jarring sight: Kory Anders in one of his hoodies, a dumb smile plastered on her face, reading through an application form he had left on his desk. Kory sees Jason enter, and she flips the front of the paper to him, beaming. "_This_ is the major you declared?"

"Snooping is a crime."

"I didn't even know degrees in poetry exist!"

"Can we not?"

"What's your senior thesis going to be, 100 pages of poems?"

It's 50 pages, actually, because poetry is hard work, but Kory's already laughing at the idea so he doesn't bother correcting her. He swipes the paper and shoves it into a nearby drawer. "Glad we're having fun, cutie," he mutters.

"I'm sorry," she says, suppressing the laugh into tight fits of giggles. "I just didn't peg you as the literary type."

"We took American Lit together, didn't we?"

"It was a required elective and you never showed up to the final." Korry accuses playfully.

"I was exempted."

"What a liar! Dr. Jordan only exempts the top student in the class!"

"Yeah. He does."

Kory's bemused smile fades as she registers, and the genuine disbelief on her face is such a satisfying sight. "What? I can do smart shit too, Kitten."

…

…

In the end, it's the proximity that catalyzes the sex. Because when they get back to the couch, they can't focus on anything but each other's racing heartbeats and the friction between their skin. Eventually, the TV plays on as Jason gives small, deliberate kisses to the nape of Kory's neck, and Kory places her hand on his shorts, giving knowing strokes against his thigh.

Everything moves quite fast after she straddles him and he slips his hand under her shirt. "Kory," Jason breathes, reverence laced in the mere utterance of her name. "You're heartbroken."

"I know. I know what this is."

"Are you sure? Are you sure you're sure?

"Tell me a poem," she murmurs in his ear.

Jason wants to recite to her an excerpt from class, a poem called Japan, which isn't even about Japan, but about moments of perfection. But then Kory bites his earlobe and in an instant he forgets everything about it except the part with "_you are the bell, and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you_," and when he pins her onto the couch and removes her clothing, he pushes her apart and rings her, the first languid lick awakening a sound he didn't know he'd ever hear again.

In the late morning, Jason listens to Kory's shallow, even breathing as she sleeps. He's tying the laces of his shoes, ready to sneak out for a bit to pick up breakfast for the both of them.

Jason knows this isn't a promise of anything. Jason is still a mess, and he's on borrowed time. But he'll take a page out of Henry David Thoreau's book, because if he's going to live deliberately, he should go all the way. He waits for Kory to wake up, ready with the coffee and chocolate croissants.

Eventually, he's met with bright emerald eyes.

"Do you wanna go to Victor Stone's party with me?"

…

…

* * *

Hi! I made the oneshot a three-shot. My brain just wasn't done with these characters yet.

So yeah, I've also explicitly made Red X Jason Todd. It seemed appropriate since Jason's who I was thinking of when I wrote the first chapter anyway, and I wanted to continue the story in third POV.

I have a rough concept for Chapter 3, but I'll gratefully take ideas. Each chapter is inspired loosely off of a literary work. So any poem/quote/author suggestions are appreciated as well. Please review, they really make my week! And thanks for reading, always.

References:

_Walden_ by Henry David Thoreau

_The Little Prince_ by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

"Japan" by Billy Collins

Forms and concepts inspired by Melina Marchetta's _The Piper's Son_.


	3. The Words of Roethke and Atwood

A/N: Hey I'm back. I was off this story for a while because it was RobStar Week (and, you know, because of life) but here's another chapter fresh out of the oven.

Also, apparently this fic is not a three-shot either haha. Sorry guys, I just write and let the characters do their own thing and the story can't seem to end here, so I hope that's alright! My plan at the moment is two more chapters and an additional epilogue, but let's see how it goes.

For now, enjoy meeting the family.

**Chapter Summary:** "A word after a word after a word is power." -M. Atwood

* * *

…

…

…

It's as if Kory is the key to poetry. Because every night he wants to spill her body over a page and write.

_"She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,_  
_Coming behind her for her pretty sake_  
_(But what prodigious mowing we did make)."_

She's a Roethke poem, and a fucking good one. All visceral and erotic. Theodore Roethke's the wingman when it comes to sex talk, because if a poetry degree has any perk, it's how Jason's now loaded with an arsenal of words that send Kory over the edge. He was always a talker when it came to making love, but this week's been phenomenal with what he could do to her without even touching her.

He doesn't care if the sex isn't completely about him.

Okay, maybe he cares a little.

_"She moves as water moves, and comes to me,_  
_Stayed by what was, and pulled by what would be."_

What would be.

What would be is Boy Wonder looming around the corner, making a decision that could change it all for Jason. And Jason's ready to pull back.

…

…

Jason gets the text message as the professor is answering a student's question about iambic pentameter. After class, he crosses the campus to The Green: a vast stretch of eternally lush grass for Justice students to relax on their downtime. It's from a catalogue of the perfect university: two ridiculously handsome guys throw a football back and forth; in the distance, a music major practices her guitar as her friends join her on the blanket and listen. Along with the outdoor yoga club and the crowd of fraternity guys with perfectly coiffed hair and straight teeth, it's so collegiately picturesque Jason wants to barf.

Jason sees Jinx from across the lawn, who sits patiently on top of a picnic table with a motorcycle helmet on her lap and her pink hair whipping through a sudden gust of wind as a frisbee flies past her. She stares contemptuously at a gaggle of giddy girls in stringy bikinis as they're drinking in the last of the sun, winding down from a day of classes.

"They have no fucking clue," Jinx says when Jason finally gets to her. "They have no idea how easy they've had it."

"What are you doing here?"

"Did you know Justice U has the highest population of students who've received sports cars or horses for their twenty-first birthday?" Jinx looks amused with herself and stares off into the middle distance. "I just made that up, but it's pretty believable, looking around here."

"Jinx. What do you want?"

Jason's pretending he's not scared shitless right now. Jinx shouldn't know where he attends school. She shouldn't even know that he attends school at all, or anything about him, because that was the deal when getting into things with their employer. It was the whole point of the code names. But Jinx is here, showing off very valuable information about him, and the distribution of power is not in his favor.

"How about you ask me out for a cup of coffee, Red."

…

…

The campus's coffee shop is relatively empty right now, save for the extra employees busy with hanging up posters for a particular event tonight and a student who practices a song with his guitar on the makeshift stage. Jason orders two espressos and brings it to the table where Jinx sits waiting. She downs the shot like it's tequila and cuts straight to the chase.

"Bossman's been talking. You've been getting sloppy."

"I'm fine."

"But you're not, actually. Wolfram Plaza last week was a shit show. You understand that, right? Shots were fired. The car alarms went off. You fell through fucking glass, Red. If you were cut, and blood was left behind for Five-O to collect, we'd be fucking screwed."

"Hey, it's not like I asked to be bashed in the face. Take it up with Mammoth! Killing a fox wasn't part of the fucking job!"

"If it makes the score bigger, we can afford to adjust for it."

"The earrings I stole are worth more than fox fur anyway."

Jason realizes it the second it leaves his mouth that he's talked himself straight into a trap, because Jinx dons on an unsettling smile.

"You mean the earrings that your girl was wearing that night?"

Shit.

"Yeah, about that," she starts, as she leans over to grab Jason's espresso shot. "I don't think you swiped those for the team. I think you were shopping for your sweetheart."

Jason bristles. "That's not—"

"—what it looks like?" Jinx suggests eagerly. "That's what a boyfriend said to me once when I walked in on him balls deep in another girl. It's almost always what it looks like, Red, and it looks like nowadays you've got yourself a distraction. Speak of the devil."

The bell of the coffee shop door rings as it's pushed opened and Jason turns in his chair to see Kory Anders and two of her friends step inside. The goth explains something intently to Kory as the second friend—a guy with green hair and a wolfish smile—swings his arms over both of the girls' shoulders to listen in. They're a tight-knit group, Kory's squad, and Jason was always envious of it when he and Kory were dating, because at the end of the day, Kory had somewhere to belong outside of him. He couldn't relate in the slightest.

"That's what's making you sloppy."

Jason catches Kory's eye, and suddenly she's making a beeline towards him. Her two friends loyally follow. The guy, Garfield Logan, slaps Jason's shoulder jovially. "Jason! Ma Man! Haven't seen you around since… well, since you and Kory broke up last year."

"Yeah, that'd do it."

Everything about Gar is in good humor. Jason can't imagine what an offensive Garfield Logan would look like. The kid's freaking Disney-approved through and through. He's even got the veganism and the minor in animal welfare credentials to emphasize the brand of wholesomeness.

Garfield acknowledges Jinx, who looks unimpressed, with a smile. "And what's your name, Mama?"

"Not Mama," Jinx quips acidly.

Surprisingly, Garfield seems to like that answer. He chuckles, completely unperturbed. "If you're trying to intimidate me, you obviously haven't met my girlfriend."

Rachel Roth, the girlfriend, is busy staring at the guitarist on stage. "Is he tone deaf?"

Garfield cups his hands over his mouth and shouts across the shop. "Dude! Change the chord!"

"To a G," says Rachel.

"To a G!"

Meanwhile, Jinx is not having any of Kory's staring. "You want an oil painting or something?"

"I love the color of your hair," Kory says coolly. "You chose a gorgeous shade of pink. Very _memorable_."

"Thanks. I got it done when I was doing some jewelry shopping. There was a great sale on earrings last Friday. Was such a _steal_."

Jason would be impressed with the way girls can fight without actually fighting, if he isn't so terrified of the consequences that might follow if he doesn't start defusing some bombs soon. At any rate, the exchange leaves Jason low-key panicking. He shoots from his chair and tries to guide Kory and the gang back to the front like some frantic sheepdog. "You guys haven't ordered anything yet."

"It's taken care of," Kory defends, still in a stare-off with Jinx.

"We just wanted to scope the scene out," says Garfield. "Rae has a poetry slam in an hour and we're all coming to support her before things go down at Vic's."

"Open Mic," Rachel corrects. "Not poetry slam. And it's not a competition."

"Hell no it's not. Not with _you_ entering!"

It's a new voice. Jason turns.

Victor Stone is a tank, and the iced coffees he's holding look like little marathon cups in his hands. He's got the build of every football scout's wet dream and it has Victor studying at Justice University with a full ride. He's called "The Cyborg" on campus because of the way his muscles move under his skin like metal, and how he can send a football flying across the field like his arm's a cannon. He's yet another one of Kory's friends who's got life figured out. Standing next to him is Dick Grayson with his own share of coffees to balance, looking a little jet-lagged despite being back in Jump City for at least a week. And it annoys Jason that Boy Wonder can have bloodshot eyes and a five o'clock shadow and still look nauseatingly handsome.

The coffees start getting passed around as Victor tries an easy smile on Jason. "Yo, Todd. Been a while."

"Yeah."

"Heard you're coming to my party tonight."

"If it's cool."

This is shaky ground, because Stone and Grayson are best friends, and (capital E) Everyone knows there's no love lost between Jason and Dick.

"Sure, man."

Grayson's not making a thing of it, and Jason's not interested in initiating either. Jason's on some unspoken good behavior type of deal. He just knows that if fists go flying between them, he loses Kory. It's a cold war for now, but if it means he's still in the running, he'll gladly play along.

Vic's larger than life, and he stares down at Jinx with a gleam in his eye. "I didn't catch your name, girl."

"Jenna."

The name comes out of nowhere. Jason has no clue if it's real or not.

Jason sits back down in his chair as Vic moves ahead to introduce himself to Jinx (with the look on her face, it's as if these people have no fear). Garfield and Rachel are busy critiquing the guitar player from across the room, and Jason focuses in on the conversation being exchanged quietly behind him.

"How was Gotham?"

"Intense."

"Is she alright?"

"She's… struggling. But she's not the type to give up easily." There's reverence in the way he says it, and Jason wonders if it hurts Kory. "We need to talk, Anders."

"I'd like to talk to you as well."

"It didn't work out between me and Babs."

There's no response from Kory. She's speechless, and it's the silence that bothers Jason because it means she's affected by the answer. If Jinx notices Jason's change in demeanor, he doesn't care. He can feel the countdown starting for his time with Kory, and the realization is crushing.

…

...

Later, Jason walks Jinx to the parking deck and listens to her orders about staying ready for the job, because she has a heist planned on the horizon. She mounts the bike, a restored Harley Davidson soft-tail with a custom paint job: swirls of black and silver with the words Romans _3:16_ in dark pink.

"Didn't think you were the religious type."

"Romans 3:16. '_Destruction and misery are in their paths_.'"

She's psychotic. Jinx is someone who gets off from the malice of the world, and Jason wants to tell her that he swears she doesn't have to take things so seriously, but then he remembers they both ended up working for the same guy and he's on no grounds to therapize her.

"I like your ride." Jason commends instead.

"Then get yourself one. Where does all your money go anyway?"

"This school. My mom sometimes."

Jinx laughs. "Fuck that. Waste of money, both of them." And she's off.

…

…

Jason walks back to the coffee shop to find everyone dispersed. Stone and Garfield are at it with each other, because Gar's suspicious that his iced coffee isn't actually made with nut milk and Stone is passionately demanding Gar never use the phrase "nut milk" ever again. Rachel's sitting in a booth by herself, reviewing her index cards on the poem she's about to perform in under an hour. And Kory and Dick are-well, anyway. Joining Rachel is his only option.

He can't stop stealing glances at them a few tables down. Neither one of them are smiling, but they lean into each other in such a way it unsettles Jason's stomach. It's like Rachel's an empath because she says perfunctorily, "You're gonna have to get over it. They go way back."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

He's playing stupid when he knows it's futile. Rachel is Kory's girl so they have to explain their love lives with great detail to each other or else they're not friends, at least that's how Jason thinks the Girl Handbook goes. (He imagines there's a powerpoint shared between their google doc accounts.)

"Your jealousy with Grayson. You've got to deal with that. Because regardless of if they get back together or not, Dick's here to stay."

"The only thing I'm jealous of Grayson for is the way he can throw his money at you guys and you'll go defending him like paid bulldogs."

It's more of an insult to Rachel than it is to Grayson, and Jason hears too late how much of a bitter asshole he sounds. Jason and Rachel have this we're-not-friends-but-godspeed rapport between them, and he doesn't want to burn that bridge.

Jason tries again. "What's the difference between an open mic and a poetry slam anyway?"

"Poetry slams are competitions with your own work. Open mics are anything you want to showcase. Like tonight, I'm performing a piece from Margaret Atwood. Do you know her?"

"Yeah, I know her." Jason mutters as he stares down Grayson. He suddenly has Margaret's alto voice filling his head: _You fit into me like a hook into an eye / a fish hook / an open eye._

"Figures. You can't earn your degree without getting to know Atwood's stuff."

Jason hasn't come out of the poetry closet yet. "Goddamn it. Kory's a criminal justice major. She should know by now what happens to people who snitch!"

"She didn't snitch. I'm in your class."

"Oh." Jason sees himself holding a torch up to the bridge already. "Uh, sorry, I didn't notice."

"And you're wrong, by the way. The five of us take care of each other, and Dick's not a part of it because we want his money. Not since he has better things to offer us. Do you know what Margaret Atwood once said about jealousy?" Rachel asks.

"No."

"That you can only be jealous of someone who has something you think you ought to have yourself."

…

…

Jason stays for the open mic. But the words harpoon into Jason's side and he can't get it out for hours. Because Rachel Roth is the type of person to talk in layers, and Jason realizes-when Rachel makes her way to the makeshift stage and delivers a blood-curling performance of "Siren Song"-that she wasn't talking about Dick's money.

Roth steps down from the dais and her four friends rush to her with the same type of fervor as when Victor Stone makes a touchdown. She's an entity of calm and collected as her fanclub goes wild, creating both an obnoxious and endearing scene to everyone else in the coffee shop. Gar's kissing her like there's no tomorrow. Stone's rambling on a string of holy praises. Kory's laughing and Dick Grayson leans in to whisper something in Rachel's ear that makes her smile.

You can't get friends like that with money.

…

…

A/N: I'm so grateful everyone's liking the literary theme.

And god, thank you so much for reviewing. It's such a pick me up, I love you guys. Shout out to Miss geek for reminding me to update this story on my _other_ works too (haha you're freaking awesome).

Unfortunately, I'm going to be off this story for a while since DickKory Week is approaching. So I'll be focusing on more works including my RobStar multific, "Anything Other Than This."

Same routine: if you have any ideas and concepts, I'd love to hear it in the reviews or even pm-ing me. Poems/Writers/Authors are really appreciated. If you've got words, I'm here to listen.

References:

"I Knew A Woman" and _The Collected Poems _by Theodore Roethke

Romans 3:16 from The New Testament

"Siren Song," "You Fit Into Me," and _The Handmaid's Tale_ from Margaret Atwood


	4. The Words of Oliver

A/N: With Mary Oliver, this chapter just writes itself. Also thank you for the reviews!

* * *

…

…

The second Kory Anders opens the door to her apartment, Jason worries he's about to go all Shakespeare on her and compare her to a summer's day (iambic pentameter and all). It would surprise no one that Kory's got the looks for the party scene, and Jason's drinking it in: the dramatics of her makeup, the bodycon dress, the way the waves of her hair cascade down her back like silk. Kory's beauty is annihilating and it demands response, and Jason's got a lot to say.

Instead, he pushes her gently back in the apartment.

"What? No, Jason!"

"Two minutes, cutie."

Her protest dies pretty quickly once he gets his mouth on her.

…

...

Garfield Logan and Rachel Roth are waiting in a green, mudstained jeep. Kory runs up to the front and leans in to kiss Gar on the cheek before opening the passenger door, stacking stray fieldwork papers to the side, and climbing in. Jason follows, kicking a bunch of soda cans at his feet.

"What the hell, Logan. You ever see a trash can before?" Jason says.

"If there's no recycling bin around, I don't throw. Plus, the residual sugar in the cans kinda acts like a car freshener, am I right?"

There's a long, defeated sigh from the front passenger seat.

"Your logic is problematic, Garfield," Kory says seriously. "And unhygienic."

Jason agrees completely, but that doesn't stop him from noticing how nice the car smells. Like lemonade.

Garfield drives off. The Jeep is bare, with no walls or roof installed on the frames, and when they get to the main road, the wind hits their faces and Kory has to keep her hands on the fieldwork papers to keep them from flying off. Jason likes the way Kory's hair whips wildly behind her like a flame.

In the front seat, Roth is typing into her laptop with a silent fury. "What are you working on?"

"I haven't sent Dr. Lance my revision of the Mary Oliver analysis yet."

"Oh shit. That's due tonight, isn't it?"

Rachel pulls up her phone. "I accidentally deleted two paragraphs. I'm trying to find the quote I was using for my thesis. It's the one from 'The Journey.'"

Jason takes off his seatbelt. He reaches over to Rachel and types into her lap. Jason loves that poem. He knows the words by heart.

_One day you finally knew  
what you had to do, and began,  
though the voices around you  
kept shouting  
their bad advice —  
though the whole house  
began to tremble  
and you felt the old tug  
at your ankles..._

Jason types up the rest of it. "Here. Mention something about how the poem lacks a set rhyme scheme or a steady dominant meter because Oliver wants to keep it informal with the reader or some shit. Dr. Lance likes it when you mention that."

Rachel Roth is impressed. She shows it with a smile that makes Jason's heart skip a beat and he can't help but smile back. Garfield Logan clicks his tongue in irritation, and with one hand still on the steering wheel, he swings an arm around and pushes Jason into his seat

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Todd, back it up. You're only allowed one attempt to steal someone's girlfriend at a time, alright?"

...

...

Whatever outdoor lighting system the Stones invested in does their house justice. The estate's got to be worth a million, at least. They even have the circle driveway and center fountain that reeks of money. Cars are parked haphazardly in the fashion of careless college students and Gar maneuvers the Jeep like a minefield before parking on the lawn.

There's a laugh tucked in Kory's voice. "Look at our Cyborg."

Victor Stone is on the third floor balcony that juts out of the front face of the mansion, greeting incoming guests by leaning over the railing and hollering down below.

Garfield takes the keys out of the ignition and kisses his girlfriend's shoulder. "What's your guess, Mama?"

"About four beers in," Roth says.

Gar does a pull-up and lifts himself on top of the frames of the jeep. "YO CY!"

At the sight of Gar, Vic stretches his arms out like a party messiah. "BOOYAH BITCHES!"

They exchange whooping noises at each other from afar like they're Romeo and Juliet, and Roth looks back at Jason and Kory with a deadpan expression.

Kory's still laughing. But there's a rock in Jason's throat because he's in awe of all of them. These people have history and he craves history. He craves the aliveness they make with each other, and he wants a group of friends to know him so well, to bring something out of him that feels bigger than himself. Jason wants a belonging like theirs more than anything it hurts.

"AYO IS THAT TODD IN YOUR CAR?"

From the top of the jeep, Garfield Logan looks down at Jason with mischief on his face and a quirked eyebrow, as if to say: _So? Are you in?_

_Listen—are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?_

With the strength of Mary Oliver's words and the promise of the night, Jason finds himself balancing on top of the jeep next to Logan, hollering back.

…

…

The minute they step in, the bass of the music pounds into Jason's bones like an impeccably timed mallet. Roth and Logan disappear into the crowd in an instant, and instead, some of the hottest girls Jason's ever seen in his life rush over and grab at Kory.

"Kara! Guys!"

"Kory, thank God you're here. We need reinforcement."

"What's going on?"

"It's hour one and we've got Zatanna Drama in the bathroom. She won't unlock the door."

Jason recognizes one of the girls from school—Karen Beecher—who crosses her arms over her chest and mutters, "I am not drunk enough for this shit."

They move to go, but Kory pulls her arm away from the redhead's grip. "Megan, no. Um. I shouldn't be helping. Zatanna and I aren't really friends," Kory says awkwardly. There's a bit of something thrown in and Jason knows he's not the only one who catches it.

"Babe. Kindly suck it up. The time to start trying is now."

And like that, Kory Anders is pulled away from Jason and he's left to operate on his own.

Jason's about to shift gears into antisocial panic mode until he catches a beautiful sight in his peripheral. Thank God. Alcohol. Cue angelic choir.

…

…

Jason doesn't do college parties much. He reflects as he opens himself a crisp IPA bottle. His alcoholic scenes are dive bars, where the atmosphere seems soaked in despair and the crowd consists of emotionally charged drunkards hunched protectively over their own glasses. He likes social environments best when they're not very social, where alcohol flows with a wave of his finger and everyone minds their own damn business.

"Hey, Red. You got a cigarette?"

Jason nearly jumps out of his skin. "Jesus fucking Christ—Jinx! What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"I was invited. By the big, loud one."

Jinx cleans up well. Her hair's collected high in a messy ponytail and she's got on fishnet stockings that has someone nearby gawking. Jinx makes it known once again she doesn't take to people staring at her well. "Can I fucking help you?" The guy ducks his head in embarrassment.

"Why? I mean—Why did you come?"

She smiles. "Because I'm just so fascinated by the life and times of 'Jason Todd.'"

His blood chills, and suddenly he's on the offensive. "Jinx, I swe—"

"It's Jenna right now."

"**Jinx**. I _swear_."

"_Relax_. I said a heist is on the horizon, didn't I? Well it's tonight. I'm here because I'm extracting you the second I get the text from Gizmo, got it? I'm not gonna touch your girlfriend, Red. That's a promise."

Jinx brings her hand up between them, expectantly. He's on edge, but in the three years of working with her, Jason's never known Jinx to break a promise. It's what's made her so effective as a teammate. It's not necessarily trust, but it's enough. So Jason takes her hand and shakes.

"She's not my girlfriend, by the way."

"Yeah, not with that Grayson guy around. He's got an ass that can cut marble."

Jason bristles. He's sick and tired of being reminded how slim the odds are for him. "You think I don't know that?"

"So why are you still trying?"

"I don't have a fucking answer to that, Jinx. Maybe it's because there's a dead lady in my head telling me that if I suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy then I don't hesitate and just give into it."

"Wow, people in love are freaks."

Jinx's cynicism for the world is so hammered into her that Jason can't imagine who she'd be without it. There's a story inside her and he has a thousand questions, but he knows she doesn't want to be asked. Instead, he takes a breath and brings the attitude down.

"We make weird friends.

"I'm not into the f-word with people."

"Whatever. Just don't burn anything down while we're here." Jason downs the beer and leaves in pursuit of Victor Stone. He finds him still on the balcony of the third floor, committed to greeting the last stragglers of guests as they approach the house.

The wind snaps at Jason's skin. "Stone!"

Vic turns around.

"You invited Jenna?"

"Who? Oh—OH. Yeah. _Dog_. You've got to talk me up. Your friend's smoking hot."

"Because she walked out of the fires of hell, man. Don't get involved." Jason warns.

"You doin' alright, Todd?"

His concern for Jason catches him off guard. Kory's friends are decent beyond expectation and not many people ask Jason how he's doing. It shows. Victor seems to get it, so he pushes Jason back into the house. "Come on, man. Let me introduce you to the guys."

…

…

Jason sits rigidly on a leather couch in the basement amongst a group of JU Titans he's seen on campus but never had the time—or guts, admittedly—to interact with. He knows them by name, embarrassingly enough. Connor Kent, the fullback of the football team, is busy thumbing through the laminated pages of the song inventory with a determined look in his eye. "Listen, so we're not doing this right unless someone gets Bohemian Rhapsody up and running. And I expect full participation from everyone. Including you, new guy. Harper, queue in 1456."

Baseball god Roy Harper leans back into the couch and has his ankle resting on his knee with a don't-tell-me-what-to-do look on his face, but he types in the four numbers into the remote all the same. Wally West is standing in front of the television, armed with a microphone in his hand and making an obnoxious point of doing squats in preparation.

"Yo. You're too much, West," comments Hawkins. Jason knows this guy too. Virgil Hawkins is a basketball legend, and Jason's trying his best not to hit him with a thousand questions like the starstruck fanboy he is. Jason's got zero school spirit, but he has a thing for a guy who's made something of himself after a long history of gangs and turf wars as a teen. That coupled with the fact he can steal a ball on the court like he's got magnets for hands means Jason's respect for Hawkins is immense.

"Guys, we can't do any Sam Smith until Grayson gets here or he'll flip a shit," reminds Donna Troy, captain of girls' soccer, as she pours the first round of shots. "Let's not have it play out like last time."

"Where's Dick at anyway?"

"He texted the group chat saying he'll be running late."

Wally West talks into the microphone and saunters back and forth like he's doing stand up comedy. "Dick Grayson says he's running late to a party? Dick Grayson never runs late to a party! What's the deal with that, folks, am I right?"

Roy Harper takes a glance at the list of upcoming songs at the side of the TV screen and groans. "Shit, Wally. What the hell is this line up? This is pussy music."

"Oh, it's pussy music alright," Wally says and makes a gesture with his tongue and two of his fingers. With one finger, Roy returns a gesture back.

Virgil Hawkins leans forward from the couch to look Roy Harper dead in the face. "Bruh. Don't underestimate the power of Marvin Gaye."

The song begins to play and Wally gets into character. "This goes out to the love-of-my-life-slash-disciple: Roy Harper the Non-Believer," he announces dramatically. "Watch a miracle happen, my guy."

For five surreal minutes, everyone is in silence as Wally West executes a jaw-dropping performance of Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get it On," complete with the hip gyrating and perfectly timed falsetto. Before they know it they're sitting on the couch in utter disbelief to watch Linda Park shove Wally into the basement bathroom with an urgency of life or death.

"What the fuck just happened..." Harper says numbly.

Connor leans over to put a hand on Troy's stomach. "Donna, are you pregnant?"

…

…

The microphone is passed organically song by song with shots of alcohol taken after each performance, and eventually it ends up in Jason's hand. So he just goes for it.

With the boundless confidence of someone on his sixth round of vodka, Jason pretends he's back in his shower and puts on a song from the man who's never failed him: his Lord and Savior Elvis Costello. Before he knows it, he's on the coffee table and he swears he's having an out of body experience, slurring at every word, but refusing to sacrifice any of the gusto. It wins over the crowd of athletes who are on the same level of inebriation he's on. And despite nobody else knowing who Elvis Costello is, everyone's singing along.

"Pump it up…"

"—until you can feel it!"

"Pump it up…"

"—when you don't really need it!"

The song's not even asking for it, but somewhere at the end Jason manages to fit in an opportunity to belt a drunken riff off the top of his lungs, and he doesn't hit any of the notes he intends to hit but it doesn't matter because everyone's already screaming like velociraptors and suddenly he's a karaoke god. Someone's so wrapped up in the moment they throw a shoe at him.

…

…

Jason stays for "Remix to Ignition" led fearlessly by Connor Kent before fumbling his way upstairs and into the sunroom, where he sinks into a vacant loveseat like a content bag of sand to watch Kory on the dance floor, lost in her element. She's all soft lines and gold skin, moving like a mercurial flame behind the flashes of strobe lights and haze of sweat. Kory Anders is the revelation every artist wants to have. Jason swears he can make the greatest poem out of her, if she let him.

Their eyes meet. There's something almost wicked about her smile and suddenly his heart's on fire. She dances towards him like a siren and Jason just knows he's too far gone to pretend he isn't falling deeper in love with her. By the time she's pushing into his knees she breaks character and laughs, dropping into the seat next to him. Jason moves in, the skin of his lips barely scraping hers. "Oh, Kitten, you don't know what you do to me."

"How's the party treating you?"

"I think… I think your friends like me."

He loves the way her nose crinkles when she smiles. "I think they like you too. I think they see potential in you, Jason."

"And you? Do see potential in me?"

She's about to say something. But the alcohol has Jason uninhibited and he just doesn't have the restraint anymore. He breaks the space between their lips and when she brings her hands up to his jaw, time just stops. She tastes like cherries and alcohol, and the music rings in his eardrums and he's just so vulnerable with her. _Tread softly, Starfire_, he wants to say. _Tread softly because you tread on my dreams._

"Starfire," he whispers into her throat, his heart racing. "How about you and I take a little field trip."

…

…

He loves her. He fucking loves her.

She's pushed against the closet wall and Jason tells her to keep her eyes on him and he shoves two fingers deep inside her mouth until she lets out soft, adorable whimpers. He pulls out and hikes up her dress. With his hands, Jason writes a poem inside her.

…

…

The party goes on, and Jason doesn't give a shit anymore. He unfastens his jeans and whispers dark words into Kory's ear. The sounds she makes at the first thrust is a song he wants to hear over and over again.

…

…

Her legs are wrapped around his waist and she's panting into his mouth while he rolls his hips in a hungry rhythm, completely losing himself in her, when he _swears_ he hears it.

Jason puts her down and scrambles for distance, his back hitting the opposite side of the closet wall as his blood starts to warm. He's just staring at her.

Kory's trying to catch her breath. She's flushed and her brows are knitted in frustration. "Jason, what the hell? I—"

"You were about to say his name."

"I wasn't. You're being paranoid."

"D-" Jason says with a baleful stare. "D-, d-..."

"I don't know. Don't stop? Deeper? I don't really think about what I'm saying when we—"

But Jason's already fastening his jeans and he swings the closet door wide open, not giving a fuck who's looking at him as he makes his way out the sunroom and towards the door. Once Jason's outside he violently kicks at the gravel under his feet and watches as the stones buffet into the base of the fountain and ricochet into nowhere.

He can hear the clicking of her heels on the stairs.

"You're gonna choose him, aren't you?" Jason hears himself say, rage catching in his throat. He turns to her because he wants to see Kory's face as she gives her answer. But he's painfully unprepared despite it all.

"I don't have a choice."

The audacity of her answer makes him want to scream. "Excuse me?"

Kory descends the rest of the stairs and walks towards him, full of fury. "Jason. I begged! I begged you to quit a year ago. And that time in my apartment last semester, I was still getting over you! If you had just quit I would have—"

"I'm sorry I don't descend from royal money like you, or that I'm not a fucking billionaire like Grayson. It's only ever been me, Kory. All I have is myself!"

"That's not an excuse! Rachel and Gar are orphans, you don't think they have to work for their tuitions too? God, you're such a hypocrite. You're so hung up on my decision when _you_ were the one who had a choice to make last year and _you didn't choose us_!"

From the door, a crowd has appeared and they're on their phones recording because people are pricks, but Jason's too frozen from where he's standing to do anything about it. So he watches numbly as Garfield Logan pushes through the audience and makes his way to Kory, tilting her head into the crook of his neck and placing a hand on the small of her back while she shakes. Again, the intimacy Kory gets from her iron-strong list of friends reminds Jason how alone he is in the world.

"Come on, Kory," Garfield coos. "Let's go inside."

But Kory's not done. "You didn't choose me, Jason. And you don't get to come back a year later demanding things should be different when I've worked this hard to move on. Especially when you still work for _him_. What we had… I thought what we had was enough for you to quit. But I was wrong."

Jason's swirling apart and he's cut up with shame and rage and a relentless hatred for everyone, especially himself. He hears Vic's voice ushering everyone back inside. Virgil Hawkins and Connor Kent are making their way towards him and Jason's not interested in whatever they want to talk to him about, so he walks away. He makes it as far as the security gate of the residency before the need to throw up overcomes him. The retching is painful and it has him keeled over with his elbows on his knees as every ounce of alcohol hits the ground.

The sound of combat boots on gravel grows louder until he feels a soft hand on his back. He smells the nicotine.

"Fuck off, Jinx."

"Gizmo texted. Job's on."

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

"Got your Glock?"

…

...

Back at his place, Jason pulls at a drawer and fishes for the Glock. In the pile of random crap that's being jostled around, a piece of paper now pressed with a thousand creases unfurls itself for Jason to read twelve words that suddenly burn into him…

He never pointed out to Kory the irony of her breaking up with him for being a thief, when it was something he stole that won her heart in the first place.

A poem, of all things.

He grabs the gun and goes. And yes, he's taken enough literature courses to see the symbolism of this.

…

…

Gizmo meets them outside the venue: a condominium complex a few minutes away from the University. Jason dismounts the bike and pulls the mask over his face.

"Load o' crud better be worth it," the kid says. "Systems were a bitch to hack."

Jinx pulls the gun from Jason's jeans and inspects it calmly. She tucks it into her boot. "You did what I asked?"

"Would I have texted you otherwise? Mammoth's upstairs with the goods."

Jinx pulls out a half-empty pack of cigarettes, one she no-doubt swiped from some scrub at the party. She looks up at Jason and smiles. "You want?"

"No."

"Oh, honey, you're gonna want."

Jason's not really all there at the moment. So he doesn't catch it.

…

…

Jinx jimmies a lock to the back door of the complex. From there, the three of them take the elevator to the top floor with the safety of Gizmo's complete control over the building's security systems. When Mammoth opens the door of the target apartment, a chill surges up Jason's spine.

Over a carefully laid out sheet of tarp is Dick Grayson in a chair, zip tied and beaten to Kingdom Come, with a balled-up piece of cloth shoved into his mouth.

"Jinx…"

Jinx takes the gun out of her boot and tosses it to Jason.

"What did that dead lady say? Don't hesitate. Just give into it."

...

...

* * *

A/N: This fic is a bit ridiculous because it's a collection of everything I avoid writing (because they haven't been my strengths in the past): love triangles, AU, multifics. But here I am having a lot of fun writing it!

In this party I've mentioned Zatanna, Miss Martian, Bumblebee, Supergirl, Superboy, Kid Flash (and his comicbook love interest, Linda Park), Static Shock, Wondergirl (my fave), and Speedy. I accidently missed Aqualad but maybe there's an opportunity to work him into the next chapters. Also I love the idea of everyone considering Wondergirl "one of the guys."

Also, I don't even listen to Elvis Costello. He's a little too whacky for me. It's just in my headcannon that Jason's the type of guy who loves Costello's sound unironically and no one really gets it.

Review if you can, please! It makes me feel really good to know how you feel about the story. Suggestions, criticisms, any questions... I'd love to hear it.

References:

Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare

"The Journey" and an exerpt from _Swan: Poems and Prose_ by Mary Oliver

"The Cloths of Heaven" by W. B. Yeats ("tread softly because you tread on my dreams")


	5. The Words of Whitman

Jason Todd was two midterms, four espresso shots, one and a half allnighters, a pulled shoulder, and a recovering knife-wound infection into a mental breakdown when he met Dick Grayson in his first year of college. It was during the time his mom had just walked out of his life again and Jason was doing the math and coming to terms with hard facts, that if he wanted to stay at Justice University, he'd have to take _the offer_. JU education came with a hefty price, and he had already lost his scholarship the first semester after burning himself out juggling the drama of his deadbeat mom and work-study jobs that barely made a dent into the tuition.

He was a walking clusterfuck of a teammate at the start, according to Jinx. They put a gun in his hand and called him Red Hood (for his red hood, surprise) on his first night, a painful six-hour endeavor of verbal abuse and bruises in all the worst places. He was told to shoot at a security camera, only to have the bullet ricochet off a steel sconce and bury itself into Mammoth's right shoulder.

"Ya got a deathwish, shithead?" Mammoth snarled, cursing up a monsoon as Jinx dispassionately dug through his flesh to find the bullet. "'Cos Christmas can come early if ya don't get yer shit together. You're a fuck-up away from being my next target, kid. A big, fat, red fucking X."

The name stuck. Red X.

Jason couldn't quit, because Justice University was his dream school, and Jason didn't have many dreams that were this ambitious. It's why it got him all shredded up in the mind to see his GPA take hit after hit when he had to deal with his mom until he was on the academic threshold of being kicked out, only to have her disappear once again, with all his efforts of her recovery thrown out the window. It was like Jason could _feel_ his empathy going rigid.

Jason's heart was already brimming with hatred when a girl who was sharing a table with him on the third floor of the library accidentally spilled her coffee on his laptop, short circuiting the device and sending the thirteen pages of his freshman thesis into an irretrievable void forever.

"Oh, jeez, I'm so—"

Jason dropped an arm on the table and—with a dramatic swipe—brought _everything_ between them clattering to the floor. The ruckus summoned several heads poking out of their study cubicles. "FUCKING hell! Are you an idiot!?"

"I-I… I—didn't—"

"—Didn't know how to read? The sign says NO BEVERAGES ALLOWED you stupid bi—"

Two hands snaked over to grab him by the front of his collar and yanked him backward with so much volition it sent books flying as his back was slammed into a neighboring shelf. Steely blue eyes eclipsed his vision.

"Obviously, the girl didn't mean it."

"Get. The _fuck_. Off me. Dickhead."

A grin. "It's just Dick, actually. Dick Grayson. And I think you owe her an apology. It's midterms and everyone's on edge."

Jason couldn't figure out why the name sounded so familiar. "I don't need to apologize for _shit_. Because Daisy Dyslexic here can't read the rules in a _fucking_ library, I lost three weeks of work for an assignment due in less than ten hours."

"Shit happens."

"It's about to if you don't _let go_."

Dick Grayson promptly released Jason's shirt and moved to help the girl pickup her items. "My friends and I have the group study room near the elevator," he said amenably. "Feel free to join us. I'm just on my way downstairs for a bite, but—" Dick picked up a pen off the floor and took her hand, writing something into her palms. "Here's the room number. I'll grab you another coffee on my way up."

Daisy Dyslexic mumbled her gratitude and scurried away like a mouse, her laptop and books awkwardly gathered in her hands.

"Well, aren't you Prince Charming?" Jason said caustically.

"Just because your day is hell doesn't mean you have to drag everyone else in it too. We've all got things to deal with."

"You think your hell is worse than mine?"

"I don't like to compete with the sordidness of someone's past," said Grayson, completely unprovoked.

The name finally registered in Jason's brain as he visualized a specific copper plaque that labelled one of the buildings on campus. "Grayson like the Grayson Gymnasium?"

This got a reaction. "What about?"

Figures. This kid had all the bravado of someone backed up with money. Wealthy families made donations to Justice University all the time, and as such got to memorialize their own name with buildings and treat the campus like their own personal playground, swooping into people's businesses like an entitled Machiavelli. "Sure, you know hell. I bet your parents brought down the hammer on you with their fat stacks of cash."

"_Watch_ it."

But Jason was out for blood. "Jesus, a whole fucking building named after you guys? What is it, Old Money? Mom and Pops didn't have to work a day in their lives when the inheritance is that good, huh? And what do rich moms do with that much time on their hands, I wonder. Buy cars, a new nose maybe, down some Xanax while the husband's out fucking a younger—"

Dick's knuckles slammed into Jason's face in a glorious first punch, an accomplishment Jason felt thorough pride for until being pummeled into the ground. It was a suspiciously long while before some poor strangers ripped Dick off him, and they soon found themselves sitting on benches on opposite sides of each other in front of the campus counselor's office.

Grayson fell for it. He threw the first punch, and there were witnesses and a security camera footage reel to prove it. JU policies came down hard on students involving acts of violence, and this was an offense that could have gotten him booted out of school.

But he wasn't booted out of school. Dick Grayson was let off with a warning, and Jason learned two pivotal things that week. First, that money greased the world better than blood did. And second, if Jason wanted to get anywhere in his life very quickly, he needed to have access to both.

And that's how he relearned the games of the heist, now refreshed with a new perspective. All of a sudden Jason Todd had an enviable and unavoidable learning curve on the nights he read the orders from his boss and loaded the gun.

…

…

Dick Grayson buckles from where he's sitting when Mammoth throws a sharp punch to his gut, and the distorted wheeze that comes after scrapes at Jason's ear like claws on a chalkboard.

He brings a hand to his face. A mask is all that stands between Dick Grayson and the truth, and Jason has to protect it within an inch of his life if he wants the path of least resistance. Now there's a God. Now there's a cosmic force answering to all of Jason's ill intentions at once. Who knows how many times Jason stared Grayson down from afar and wished for the suffering of Boy Wonder. It's all manifested in front of him like an answered prayer. Except that it doesn't feel like an answered prayer at all. It feels like shit.

Another fierce punch, and Grayson's spluttering and choking on the balled-up cloth in his mouth at the same time, and Jason's thinking he needs to leave. Now. None of this is worth it. None of this is how he imagined things would go down in the end.

"Red X."

Jinx's dark fuschia mask is pulled up to the mouth and she's lighting a fresh cigarette. "Share a ciggie with me, Red." She takes a long, pleasant drag and blows a haze of smoke above her as she peers over to Jason through the darkness of the room, and winks. Jinx has him by the balls, and she's revelling in it. She wants him to know too. That conniving bitch.

Jinx makes her way to him and holds the cigarette between her two fingers. In superfluous detail, Jason imagines the feeling of his hands wrapped around her throat as he's wringing the life out of her, aching for the sensation, before actually bringing his hand up to encompass her wrist.

It's the nicotine, the smell of acrid smoke that reminds him so much of his mother, of the lack of life she cultivated for him that ultimately brought him to this very moment. Jason's just a statistic, isn't he? A kid from a broken home and second-hand drug addictions who grew up only to be a cog in the perpetual wheel of corruption and crime. Who the hell did he think he was, attending one of the most prestigious schools in the country, thinking he can climb out of the rot he grew up in and do better than his parents… Jason's just a fraud.

He pulls her closer as he lifts up his mask with his other hand and sets his mouth on the tip of the cigarette, looking straight into the psychotic gleam in her eye, and takes a drag.

"Good boy."

"So what? We jack the Ferrari and whatever fits in it and we bolt?" A staccato of smoke follows every word out of his mouth.

"If everything goes smoothly," says Jinx, smiling. It sounds like agreement. It tastes like a threat.

"He has a Ferrari?" Gizmo says in disbelief.

Mammoth wacks Dick Grayson in the head so hard the chair tips over, and now he's bleeding over the tarp like a melting candle. Jason can taste something metallic in his mouth; he realizes he's been biting down on the inside of his cheek from a wild surge of guilt. He violently shoves the feeling back down.

"And Red? I'm gonna need your phone. Not that you're not trustworthy, it's just that I don't trust you."

…

…

Jinx orders for a sweep of the apartment, and Jason takes the bedroom. It's got the clean lines of something that can only be maintained by a high-end housekeeper: clothes crisply folded into neat squares on the bed, perfectly fluffed pillows, a dark wood dresser gleaming with polish. The room screams of wealth, save for two peculiar things that catch his eye: the literal elephant in the room in the form of a plush on his dresser, and a vintage poster on the wall over his bed, pressed between the glass and backing of the frame to protect its fraying edges—_The Flying Graysons_. It's a family of three in acrobat attire painted and colored in the art-deco fashion. The randomness of these items throws Jason off guard.

The closet is half the size of the room, and Jason empties out a gym duffel bag and goes to work acquiring anything he deems valuable to the market. One of the skills of being a thief is the ability to hone in on an expensive item like a hawk, and Jason has spent two years staring down Grayson to the very detail of his wealth. Yes, your whole day attuned to seeing what good things other people have kind of skews your perspective in life, sure. But Jason's not trying to find the pursuit of happiness right now. Jason's trying to be rich.

He finds it, Grayson's notorious Rolex collection: ten beautifully crafted watches (one being an _actual_ collector's Daytona, _holy shit_) clasping little pillows in a wooden box. Upwards of half a million dollars sits in Jason's shaking hands. This is the big break. They're not even an hour into burglary and the Ferrari and watch collection alone is the best they've ever done in a single night. Jason's accepting the fact that he can't show his face in Justice University ever again. He won't be getting his degree, but he'll make it up to himself by retiring on this money for life.

"FUCK."

There's a sudden sound of a chair smashing and Mammoth's pained grunts before Gizmo's shouting at the top of his lungs. "DIPSHIT RAN FREE!"

Jason shoves the box into the duffel bag and bolts out of the room before running down the hall and turning the corner into what seems to be an office at a glance. But there's something waiting for him. Moonlight glints off the leg of a chair as Grayson takes a swing, and Jason's going too fast to stop.

The wood slams into his stomach so hard he can almost feel his lungs crushing into his spine. He doesn't remember the fall, but suddenly he finds himself on his hands and knees, scrabbling ineffectually at the floor, trying to breathe. Jason would puke if he could only manage that first gasp, but his body refuses to cooperate. He rips himself off the floor and scrambles back to his feet.

"Tables turned now, asshole." Grayson does a roundhouse kick (fuck, where'd he learn that) and it sends Jason flying into a desk, effectively breaking it in half, before Grayson gets on top of him and buffets Jason with punch after punch to the temple and face and ribs. And it's all just every flavor of suffering, and Jason thinks it can't get any worse, until Grayson pulls at the mask and freezes.

"Fuck, _Todd_?"

It's really the tone that kills Jason. Because sure they hate each other with the fiery passions of hell, but in those two words Grayson reveals a hint of betrayal, as if all this time Grayson had thought better of Jason. And that shit stings like nothing else.

In any case, the shock stills Grayson long enough for Gizmo to sneak up from behind, point the taser gun, and aim.

…

…

"What are you thinking about?" She asked.

"Not thinking. Just looking."

Kory moved to rest her chin on his chest. "I don't want to leave this bed for a while."

"Kitten, by all means, stay where you are."

She giggled, a sound so bright and perfect it made her unhuman, and Jason couldn't help it, he craned his neck down and kissed her for the thousandth time that week, because for some unfathomable reason he couldn't get enough. It didn't matter that Kory was a morning person and he innately was not. When she was awake and willing, Jason was alive.

Kory stopped the kiss by pushing a thumb at his lips. "But my classes start at 1, and Donna and I need to go to the mall before then to find our outfits for Vic's party tomorrow."

"Why? Anything looks good on you."

Kory was beaming; she was now in that state of fire that he loved so stupidly, and Jason just wanted to be burnt. He wanted to wax poetic all over this moment, because she deserved beautiful words and he was finally in a position to give it, but it was an overwhelming fear that held him back.

He could do it, you know. He could say those three words that burned in his chest.

"You terrify me," he said instead.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know."

…

…

Jason's in the enterprise of tying Grayson to a new chair, avoiding at all costs the stare Grayson is boring down at him, because whatever the look is on Grayson's face is a look that could swallow Jason whole. The masks are off, because what's the point anymore, and Gizmo and Mammoth busy themselves by going through the duffel bag that Jason had packed. Gizmo whistles when Mammoth opens the Rolex box. "Flaming shitballs. Who the fuck is this guy?"

"Last name's Grayson," Jason supplies dully. "JU's gym's named after his family or some shit."

Jason can feel his stare like a cattle branding iron.

"Wow. _Big_ money. Now I'm thinking we go ransom..." comments Jinx, who's turning the gun over and over in her hand. Jason can almost hear the cogs in her brain moving before starting another round of orders. "Giz, look up the Grayson family and get a net worth for me. He has an office down the hall. I want a passport, a birth certificate, a bank account number and social security card in my hands. Mammoth, bring the Ferrari around to the back door, we gotta start hauling shit. And Red, gag the fucker once you're done. I need to make a call."

Jason's soon left alone in the room with the beaten down Boy Wonder, and finally, _finally_, Jason grows the balls to look him in the eyes.

It's honestly everything he expected and worse.

"Don't worry, Grayson," Jason says quietly. "I'm fucked anyway. We're gonna take your shit, send you on a little vacation till Mom and Pops throws a few billions in our direction, and then you can get back to your tidy little life that you can dedicate to hunting me down. And maybe you'll find me. Or maybe I'll be in another country cashing out my money. Either way, I'm outta school, outta touch with Kory, outta your way for good."

"Does Kory know about this?"

"The job? Had a big old fight about it at the party. You would have loved it. Don't worry, there are videos. About _this_ particular shindig? Hell, _I_ didn't even know about it. Bosses, am I right?" Jason moves to wrap a tie around Grayson's mouth as a makeshift gag. "It's nothing personal. I mean, it is, but only incidentally."

"Jason, you have to leave. I know who you work for. I heard the kid say his name to the big guy, to Mammoth."

"Sure you do, Dick."

"No, Jason. Listen. I'm adopted."

Boy Wonder has a face of pure conviction, and as if on cue, Gizmo shouts from the other room, "Archive's not coming up with any billionaire family named Grayson. Ya sure he ain't just a millionaire?"

Jason's listening now.

"I was nine when my parents were killed in one of their performances. We were acrobats, and the circus refused to pay extortion money to these guys in Gotham. Tony Zucco was his name, he cut the wires on us. But he was working for someone, Todd. Your boss. Slade. Your boss is Slade Wilson.

Jason's can't say anything. He's busy trying to keep his breath as the world rips apart from under him.

"Your boss… he killed my family."

Tonight, the stars have all aligned to let Jason know he's well and thoroughly a shit person. He grew up in a shit house with a shit grasp of reality and now perpetuates a world of hatred and harm to innocent families. It's the universe turning the knife in his gut for the final time. _You wanted Dick Grayson to suffer, Jason Todd? Well here you go, turns out you've been part of his suffering this whole time. On the other end of his pain and grief are people just like you._

"Listen to me, Jason. I've dedicated my whole life to bringing down Slade's ring. So I know my shit when I say this: he takes apprentices and throws them under the bus when they pose even an ounce of liability. Jinx was the girl in the coffee shop today, wasn't she? I think you've been compromised."

Jason hates Dick Grayson at this very moment more than he ever has before. Dick, the one tied up in a chair with a bloody mouth and a swollen face. Dick, the one not giving a shit about his own current predicament because he's trying to warn Jason to safety. Dick, the good guy in everyone's story, including Jason's. Dick, the Boy Wonder. Dick, the orphan and billionaire who refuses to be defined as such. Dick, the type of guy Jason's always wanted to be.

There's a sound at the front door, and Jason shoves the tie in Grayson's mouth before Mammoth enters the apartment to confirm that the car is parked near the back door of the building, and soon Jinx and Gizmo appear at the end of the hall.

"Just talked to Bossman," Jinx says coolly.

"So are we doing ransom?" Gizmo asks. A phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out. "It's Grayson's phone. Someone's asking where he is."

"Who?"

Gizmo reads the name. "Kory?"

"Take care of it, Giz."

Gizmo starts texting as Mammoth grunts disapproval. "We never done a ransom before."

"Never tied up someone with this much money before either."

"What does crudnugget call his girl? Babe? Do I write babe?"

"Hell if I know."

"Call her petal, it's what I call my girl,"

"Shut the fuck up, Mammoth."

"Starfire," Jason says, a bit breathlessly. "He calls her Starfire."

…

…

It came from a poem.

_The star fire does rest  
inside the lower of the chest  
burning deep, a calm- sleep  
Dream_

Now it's a beacon. A name that can literally pull Jason out of this mess if the universe that hates him so badly decides to throw him a bone. _Anything, please_, Jason begs. He's praying to the god he doesn't believe in and who—frankly—probably doesn't believe in him back. _Please give me a chance. Please let me fix this._

They begin hauling the valuables down to the car. And Jason keeps his ears perked up and his eyes locked at each end of the main road for sirens, headlights, any sign of a cosmic response.

Instead, all Jason gets back is the universe's middle finger in the form of a black car pulling into the parking lot and next to the Ferrari, where Slade Wilson himself steps out of.

"What a lovely night."

…

…

_Your hair is winter fire  
January embers  
My heart burns there, too._

These were the words that laid the foundation to Jason's love of poetry and allowed Kory Anders to step into his world, the words of Stephen King himself, recited to Jason by his American Literature professor as the class was analysing King's infamous novel, _It_.

There were three types of fear, according to Stephen King. The _Gross-Out_ was all about visceral discomfort, like the sight of a severed head tumbling down the stairs or something green and slimy splattering against an arm. _Horror_ was the graphic portrayal of the unbelievable, like fear of the walking dead or spiders the size of bears. But _Terror_ was the third and worse one of all: a little girl at the end of the hall with a relentless smile, or a breath at the back of one's neck, only to turn around and find nothing there. A fear induced by imagination alone.

Slade Wilson is the personification of Terror—Jason thinks—of something unsettling despite the handsome face and pleasant disposition. Just the instinctual feeling of wrongness, of a danger nowhere to be seen but felt all over.

They're back in the apartment, staring at Grayson fixed to the chair in the middle of the room as Jinx is crouched over an oversized equipment bag that Slade had brought with him, rummaging through its items. Mammoth is reporting to Slade the events of the night, and Jason's mentally trying to call Grayson's attention, but it doesn't seem to be working because Boy Wonder is all about sizing up Slade Wilson in the flesh.

"... but the kid was feisty," Mammoth continues. "Slammed his whole body down a chair just to smash it and break free. Threats didn't work on 'im."

"Well what else were we supposed to do, dickwad?" Gizmo comments bitterly. "We got no carrots and a whole lot of stick."

"Irrelevant," Slade dismisses, grinning down at Grayson. "If it's ever the question between the carrot or the stick, the answer is always the stick. It's just a matter of getting a better stick."

Slade turns to look at Jason, and suddenly Jason's recounting the three types of fears all over again. "Red X, you're quiet."

"I'm just… shocked. You never do fieldwork. Guess I'm just trying to listen and learn something from you over here."

"Very studious of you, boy. Let me start off with this lesson then: at the end of the world, forget the guns. Forget the makeshift spears and bows and arrows…"

Jinx pulls out something from the equipment bag—something that sends the blood away from Jason's fingertips—and hands it over to Slade.

"Get yourself a crowbar. Nothing will get you further into the apocalypse than this."

Dick Grayson's cobalt-colored eyes are gleaming with a wildness, the type of look that's screaming _Bring it on, fuckface_, and Jason's thinking he's got to defuse some bombs. He has to stall. "I don't think it's a good idea. If we're taking him for ransom, he's no use to us broken. Less harm means more money right?"

Slade Wilson looks at Jason carefully. "Hm. There appears to be a misunderstanding. Jinx?"

Jinx pulls out the gun. Cocks it. "Change of plans, Red. Ransom's not the objective anymore. Too many bodies to deal with."

The first two shots bury into Dick's side while the third shot goes for Dick's head, and Jason _witnesses_ it: the ungodly way Dick Grayson's head rattles around on his shoulders, and the thick spray of blood that shoots from his skull onto _everywhere_, and Jason can't hear anything anymore, but he knows he's screaming because he can feel his vocal chords ripping inside him and if there is ever a possibility to feel all three fears at once, this is it.

Slade Wilson swings the crowbar like a professional golfer—form and follow-through and all—seemingly breaking Jason's cheekbone into little pieces. And suddenly the world tips over and he's on the floor while his hearing gets back to him, and all he gets is a cold, clipped voice: "You became a liability, Jason Todd."

The next swings go to his ribs, and the world crackles black before coming back into too-sharp focus. He can hear his bones shattering under his skin, and Jason's choking on his own blood in his mouth, and every wracking cough threatens to shake him apart. Another swing, and another. The lines of the world are blurring now, and in the middle of the room the chair blocks any visual of Dick Grayson's blown off head. All Jason can see are lifeless legs and a rapidly growing pool of blood.

These may very well be the last few seconds of his life, but Walt Whitman still has something to tell him.

_These are the days that must happen to you._

And like that, the sounds of sirens echo in the distance.

The world goes black.

…

…

The parking lot of the complex is jam-packed with police cars, news vans, and two ambulances ready to take their bodies, and Jason sits outside like a bag of bones on the lowest steps of the condominium as a young EMT is checking his vitals. It's Donna Troy that gets out of her car and sees Jason first, and he watches as Donna reaches over the top of the car and touches Kory's shoulder. Kory turns her head. Those green eyes. Those green fucking eyes.

"Jason!"

"Kory!" It hurts to shout out her name, but he doesn't care.

She's running to him, Donna not too far behind, and the world seems so different for some reason to Jason and when she finally gets close enough, he sees that she's crying. Her hands are all over him, despite the EMT's warnings, recoiling only after seeing the way he winces.

"You're—"

"I'm fine. Kory, listen to me. I'm sorry, I'm so so fucking sorry—"

"Dick. Where's—"

Lights illuminate the steps of the building as the doors open and she sees it, and she's making a sound Jason swears he never wants to hear in this life ever again. They're wheeling out his body and bringing him down the steps. It's pale, and cold, and utterly lifeless on the stretcher, and it's sickening, because he's one of those guys with a spirit that's bright and big, and it just doesn't make sense to see him so still.

Jason's riddled with fractures and he doesn't have the strength, so it's Donna—with tears of her own—who's holding a hysterical Kory Anders down as the paramedics hoist Dick Grayson into the ambulance with a cold and silent efficiency. They're rattling off information to the police officer in rapid succession as they get into the vehicle, start the engine, and leave.

Kory's completely unconsolable and there's panic in Donna's eyes as she looks over to Jason. "We'll… we'll just…" She's trying her best to get control of the situation, but then Kory's legs buckle under her and they both go down. Jason can hear the quiver in Donna's voice. "Kory get a hold of yourself. Kory! KORY. We're gonna follow them to the hospital."

The blood of Kory Anders descends from direct royalty of Tamaran, the now war-torn country along the coast of the Mediterranean Sea, and it's doled out its own fair share of violence for her to witness. Kory is no stranger to seeing her loved ones die; she did it for years as a child before her people had smuggled her out.

It's years of practice that gets Kory to take three deep breaths and compose herself into something functional. She finally gets her head back on. "Text Rachel and Gar and Wally. No one else. _Not Vic_."

Jason sees them: the police officers' glances as they push Jinx into the back of the police car, and the exchange of murmurs before they start to make their way towards him. One of them absently moves a hand to his handcuffs, and that's how Jason realizes all at once that it's over. This is the end of the story. The curtains beginning to draw on the play. He imagines the protagonist monologuing at the end of a Shakespeare tragedy, or the last emotionally charged word from the love interest in a russian novel.

He watches as Donna and Kory make their way back to the car, and he understands that he can't follow, that these are the last moments he has as a free man. What's the takeaway from all of this? What was the point of everything Jason went through? What's the lesson?

How many memorialized words have burned into Jason's brain by now? There are dozens of poets whispering their timeless versus all around him. But it's the mighty Walt Whitman who rests a hand on Jason's shoulder, piercing through the rumble of the world: _Answer. That you are here—that life exists, identity; That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse._

So with his last moments, Jason hoists himself up, braces an arm over his ribs, and contributes a verse.

He staggers to Donna's car and blocks the door before Kory closes it shut and towers over her. "You terrify me because sometimes you look at me and it's like all the bullshit gets stripped off and I'm left with what's underneath and you force me to like what I see: someone who fails and is tired of failing. I didn't know I wanted more for myself until I met you. I've never loved anyone better than I've loved you, because no one ever gave me the chance for it. You terrify me because people like you make me think I can be better when I thought it wasn't possible. It has me scared shitless."

It's rough and poorly timed, but it's all he gets to say before the officers close in on him.

He suddenly remembers the ending of that Starfire poem.

_The story is over awake, roll over.  
__The burning is past  
__if only  
__it would last._

…

...

* * *

**A/N:** This is not the end of the story! I have one last chapter (an epilogue and commentary) that I'm uploading on Sunday.

Thank you to the guest reviewer who encouraged me on the way I write group settings. That was really a meaningful thing to say since I was unsure about my execution of those scenes, so you made my day.

References:

_It _and "The 3 types of terror" by Stephen King

"Song of the Open Road" and "O Me! O Life!" by Walt Whitman

"Starfire" by S. W. Clark

Forms and concepts taken from _The Foxhole Court _by Nora Sakavic


	6. Epilogue

A.N: I had to post this epilogue a day early, since it's DickKory Week tomorrow and I want to participate. Enjoy my last addition of "Jason and the Words That Burn."

* * *

...

...

The man with the snake tattoo on his face slams the book down in front of Jason.

"Renew," he grumbles.

"Fuck no."

"What did you say to me, Todd?"

"This is the _third_ time you're renewing _Fifty Shades of Grey_. Are you masturbating to the scene where Christian Grey slaps a spatula off her ass? Give someone else a turn to read."

"That ain't your business."

Jason leans in, unafraid. "What you do to my books is my business. I'm the fucking librarian."

An inmate who's trying to read at the table pipes up, "Aw, just let him renew it again, Todd. No one wants to touch that book anymore anyway."

Jason writes it off bitterly and hands it back. "If it comes back sticky, I swear to Christ."

"Just be glad it's your last day in here, Todd. I'm fuckin' done with your dictatorship."

…

…

The officer calls him forward. "Step up, Jason Todd."

He's giving a pat down before checking everything in Jason's bag for the last time. "You got off early, kid," the officer says.

"Got some good lawyers."

"Looks like your boyfriend is here to pick you up."

Jason waits for the buzzer to go off and for the fence to slide away, and he hikes his backpack over his shoulders and walks toward that audaciously red, vintage Ferrari gleaming in the August sun, and leaning back against it with his arms crossed over his chest is Dick Grayson in the flesh, beaming back.

"Drop any soap?" Grayson asks conversationally when Jason gets to him.

"You had six months to think of something to say to me when I got out and you went with _that_?"

"Cut me some slack. I might have brain damage, you know."

"Uh huh."

"Got shot in the head. _Really_ scary, almost died. You had to be there."

"Yeah, yeah."

They're both grinning as they get into the car.

Grayson egresses the facility and when he makes it to Payton Road, he floors it, and Jason gets to hear the exquisite sound of a V12 engine at work. "Holy shit, that's fucking orgasmic."

"Wait 'till we get onto the freeway, Todd. It's a revelation."

With an effortless action of habit, Dick Grayson does some swipes on his phone and suddenly Sam Smith cry-sings from the custom speakers of the car.

"No no. _I_ was the one in prison. _I_ get to be the DJ," Jason argues. And soon enough Elvis Costello is singing his holy praises into the world, and Dick gets onto the freeway and it turns out he's right in every sense, because the feel of the engine under Jason roars like nothing he's ever experienced before, and the drive is so smooth he swears they're just flying.

Dick starts to load up Jason with all the little details he needs to know, like the information for the storage unit they rented to hold all of Jason's things when they gave up his apartment, and Justice University's acceptance papers to Jason's letter of consideration, along with the roster of classes he has to retake this semester since he missed the finals. Jason reaches back and sees some new clothes waiting for him.

"You can change at my place, and we'll drive by the storage unit if you need to pick up anything else. But our flight's in an hour and I think everyone's already waiting at the airport.

"Never been on a plane before."

"Have you ever been on a yacht before?"

…

…

Jason's never been a religious person. But two places have always felt consistently holy to him.

Forests and libraries.

Stepping into Bruce Wayne's personal library is basically just an entry to God. It's an open concept room as high as four floors, with thousands of books on the shelves shouting in one collective voice: _Listen. I have a story to tell. And I'm waiting for you to find me._

Bruce Wayne enters and puts a hand on Grayson's shoulder, who takes it as a sign to dismiss himself from the library, and soon it's just Jason and the world-renowned playboy billionaire himself. It's just more credit to Grayson, Jason thinks, that all this time he could have been sauntering through the campus touting who the "Daddy" of his "Daddy's Money" actually was this whole time.

Bruce Wayne puts a hand out. "Nice to finally meet you, Jason Todd. Thank you for saving my son."

Jason takes his hand. "Thanks for the lawyers."

"The best ones money and connections could get me. But to be honest, you had a good case on your own. We've been looking into your history, Jason. The narrative of a decent kid under some tough times isn't just some story the lawyers spun for you, it's the truth."

Jason's not really used to compliments as intent as that. "Thanks." And because he feels like he needs to say more, "Your library is like… I spent six months working at the prison's. It's a fraction of what you built here. I read everything they had in three months."

"A voracious reader. I like that. Dick tells me you're an english major?"

"Poetry, specifically."

"Favorite poet?"

It's like Jason's waited his whole life to have someone ask him that question. "E.E. Cummings."

"Is it his lack of stylistic or structural conformity that you like? Or perhaps the wit."

Jason shrugs. "He smokes, drinks, has sex, and then writes poems about it. It's the dream."

Bruce Wayne smiles, and it feels like an honor.

"I think Dick has told you by now that he's adopted."

"Yeah."

"He was nine when I took him in as my ward. An absolute terror child, actually. But a good kid. His father always wanted him to get into a college like JU. So when he got the acceptance letter, we made an agreement to offer a generous donation if Dick could dedicate the gymnasium to his parents."

"Dick told you about our first time meeting, huh?"

"It came up. Jason, you're aware that I manage multiple scholarships through my own name and through Wayne Enterprises, yes?"

"I… I know where this is going. Thank you, but I'm not good with handouts."

"This isn't a handout. You'd have to earn it. And I do have a few scholarships that ask for some creative writing."

"I'm an ex-con who just served time in prison, you sure that'll look good for your reputation?"

"My reputation is my belief in second chances, Jason. Second, third, fourth, whatever, as long as you get at least one more than what anyone else wanted to give you."

Dick's voice is heard down the hall. "B! Hate to break a moment here but the guys are waiting down at the pier."

…

…

_For whatever we lose (like a you or a me),  
It's always our self we find in the sea._

The wind roars and Jason opens his eyes. The shoreline's now out of sight and an endless sheet of ocean expands on all sides, and it excites and scares Jason in the same beat. Gulls follow the yacht no matter which way they turn like a hungry procession. Rachel Roth hovers over Garfield Logan as he stares intently at his bulky-looking laptop thing. "Cy! They changed direction again, move the boat west!"

"Right or left, Garfield, I'm not a friggin' robot."

"Left, go left!"

Jason's balancing on the hood of the flying bridge because he's feeling invincible, and below him he sees Dick Grayson sneak up behind Kory Anders and tip her over his shoulder, spinning her around like a maniac until she's laughing uncontrollably, and then he sets her down and kisses her, and she kisses back, like how it was always meant to be.

And then Dick attempts to climb up to where Jason is, and Jason reaches out to give him a hand.

When Dick finds his footing, he says, "Give me a cool line from a poem to scream at the top of my lungs." So Jason recounts to him a verse from a Walt Whitman poem that goes, _I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world_, but all Grayson gets from that is the urge to cup his hands over his mouth and scream "_YAAAAAAWWP_!" And Jason doesn't know if it's a primal instinct or sheer testosterone-driven dumbassery, but soon Garfield and Vic are yawping from where they are and Jason decides to join in too, and it just feels so good in his chest. If there actually is The Meaning of Life, Jason knows to stick around these guys, they're the closest anyone can ever get to the answer.

Dick Grayson almost slips, and he's wobbling wildly for balance, and when he finally steadies himself, something new happens: Dick Grayson and Jason Todd laugh together, and the world seems perfect for a moment.

"_YES_!" Garfield Logan shouts. "Dude, we found them! Look over there!"

Dorsal fins break out of the water in droves, knifing through the ocean to keep up with the speed of the boat, and Jason feels like a child because he's never seen dolphins before, for the same reason he's never been on a yacht or a plane before either, and it's like something is opening up to Jason all of a sudden, with wild and feral E. E. Cummings telling him,

_Listen: there's a hell of a good universe next door; let's go._

…

…

The sun's almost touching the horizon now, and they're using the last of the daylight to score some breathtaking pictures for their social media.

Jason's now sitting at the end of the cockpit, watching Victor Stone and Garfield Logan jump off the deck and into the ocean for the hundredth attempt, posing in mid-air just in time for Rachel Roth to take the photo. Dick Grayson follows with an ambitious backflip that can only be executed by someone with the history of acrobatics. It's a day of many firsts for Jason, so he gives himself a break; he doesn't think he has the balls to jump into the vastness of the ocean just yet.

Kory Anders—a golden-skinned vision in a white cover up—walks up from behind and silently takes a seat next to him, and they stay like that for quite some time.

"I know you stole the poem from my fridge that night," Kory finally says, still staring out at the horizon.

"It's called poetic justice, cutie."

"I don't think that's what poetic justice means."

"Well, you're not the poetry expert here, so—ouch." Jason says, rubbing his arm.

There are a million directions this conversation can go, and Jason's welcoming any one of them. Because life is finally good, and Kory Anders still stands as the best thing to have ever happened to him. Every movie date, every shower scene, every blood-rushing night and dedicated poem that happened between them were real, and integral to who he is now, and the memories are his and his forever.

_and now you are and i am and now we're a mystery that will never happen again_

She ends up saying nothing at all, and he's okay with that too. Because this isn't the last of anything between them. It's only the beginning. Dick Grayson bursts out of the water like some handsome sea creature and with a single finger he beckons to Kory, the dare blatant in his eyes. "Let's _go_, beautiful!"

Kory pulls the cover-up off and sets it next to Jason before running full speed to the edges of the boat and cannonballing into the sea.

Jason sits back and listens to the seagulls' calls, and the crashing of the waves as they push and pull themselves beneath him.

He lets his life begin.

…

…

* * *

**Author's Commentary**

At first this story was a oneshot. I just had this concept of Red X being a thief, but stealing things that were intangible (a kiss, a poem, someone's heart) and worked with that. But then the reviews I got were really encouraging and they said I could pull out more from the story, so I did. So if you were one of those initial reviewers, thank you so much. This story literally wouldn't have happened without you.

Red X soon became Jason Todd (which opens up so much of a narrative), and I thought about how poetry is pretty cringey until it's not, until the right words can haunt you like a phantom, and I wrote about that.

I'm doing a commentary because sometimes I read fanfiction that's so good that I end up aggressively dismantling its rhetoric structure trying to find out what makes it so powerful, and I just want to get into the author's head and ask a billion questions. So to anyone who's curious, read on:

The three main limbs to my story are as follows:

1) Jason's romance with Kory (she represents the promise of a more fulfilling life)

2) Poetry aka the words that burn (which is my metaphor to Jason's evolving conscience)

3) Jason's resentment for Dick (who represents Jason's misplaced anger and excuse for not trying to be a better person)

And with these limbs it was just a process of making sure I was braiding them into the story evenly and believably.

**Jason's Voice**

The narrative that I went for is 3rd person but in Jason Todd's vernacular. It's supposed to be like a train of thought: present-tense, no big words, lots of run-on sentences, nothing that Jason Todd wouldn't be aware of himself (so I can't say "Little did he know Kory Anders loved him back") and because it's Jason Todd and my personality is nothing like Jason Todd, I needed to abide by a few rules to make his voice really believable:

1\. No "I love you." This is a rule of thumb for most of my love stories, but especially this one. There's a million ways to say I love you, right? Like "Don't forget your jacket, it's cold outside," or "Can I see you again sometime?" Or "Promise me you'll stay safe?" And so to me it's more believable and meaningful when the _I love you_ is tucked into the dialogue discreetly. I think it packs a harder punch. It just seems more like Jason Todd's character. But honestly, if you read the story back, it's just six chapters of Jason saying _i love you i love you i love you_ over and over again.

2\. No describing people's clothing or too much about how they look. To me it just didn't seem natural if Jason was like "and she had blonde hair braided down the hollow of her back and wore a plum-colored halter top that cut right just above her belly button and high waisted shorts that…" If it doesn't matter to the story or to Jason, then I'm not going to mention it. The devil's in the details.

3\. When it doubt, curse it out. (Strategically, of course)

4\. Tell, don't show. Yep, you heard me. The exact opposite of what we're taught as writers. What I mean is, if I'm already speaking through Jason's voice, I don't need to say "The look on her face made Jason's mouth thin in annoyance." Because the 3rd POV voice I'm using is so innately Jason, it's more immersive to write something like "The look on her face was annoying." It's not as eloquent, but I'm not going for eloquence, I'm going for immersion.

**The Words That Burn**

This one goes without saying, I just used whatever could be found in an old Norton Anthology book from freshman year English Lit, and went off. I needed to find the balance of Classical, World Renowned poets without it being too stuffy. Because I wanted the poem to blend into the writing style. So no Lord Byron, not a lot of Shakespeare, but you get Margaret Atwood and Walt Whitman, so it works out.

**Why Jason Todd doesn't end up with Kory.**

I went back and forth with this. For a while he does get the girl in the end. But I thought it was a more powerful story if Jason realizes in the end that Kory isn't a path to salvation or happiness, and that it's all on him to get to where he wants to be. So I wanted the ending to be, "See? You didn't get the girl, and here you are, the happiest you've ever been." And I slipped it into the chapter with Vic's Party, when Gar and Vic are hooting at eachother, that Jason wants "a belonging" so badly it hurts. That's what he really wanted in the end, and that's what he got.

**Dick Grayson**

I needed to make sure in the end that Jason realizes the love-triangle wasn't that love-triangle-y at all, that the "rivalry" between him and Grayson was mostly one sided and in his head. They have beef, sure, but Grayson doesn't have any resentment towards Jason Todd and honestly never did, and it's one of those pivotal moments when Jason understands what a thick screen of hatred can do to warp your vision over the world and how dangerous it is.

...

...

And again, this was just meant to be a hashtag-Jason-is-sad oneshot, but that's the power of engaging readers. Thank you so much for propelling the story forward and reading the things that make me happy. If you've ever reviewed/commented, followed/bookmarked/faved or just let the view count go up, you helped me built this world, and I'm really grateful.

What did you like best about this story? What worked or didn't work for you? Do you have any questions? Review or PM me and I promise I'll get back to you. And if nothing else, do you have a favorite poem/quote you can share with me? Here's mine:

_Even  
After  
All this time  
The Sun never says to the Earth,_

_"You owe me."_

_Look  
What happens  
With a love like that,  
It lights the whole sky_

_-Hafiz_

P.S. Thanks to Exaggerated Memories (Zabrena) who recommended it in the reviews, I actually am starting a "Stories of Justice University" Series. Everything will take place in the same AU. My next story is about a love story between Kid Flash and Artemis, and I'm migrating every character from "Words that Burn" into that story. So if you're into Young Justice, or you want to see Jason and Dick/Kory play out on the sidelines, then give it a go! Dick Grayson steps up as one of the main characters.


End file.
